


Percival

by acf151



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-01
Updated: 2006-02-01
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acf151/pseuds/acf151





	Percival

Author: acf151  
Title: Percival  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Rating: R  
Words: 1800+

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke. I just borrow them.  
Teaser:  
" I told Sam that he shouldn’t bring the job home with him. That he shouldn’t let the spooks we killed invade his dreams. As if it were a question of ‘let’.  
When Sam dreams, he dreams of Jess. When I dream I dream of Percival. "  


Author: acf151  
Title: Percival  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Rating: R  
Words: 1800+

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke. I just borrow them.

 

I told Sam that he shouldn’t bring the job home with him. That he shouldn’t let the spooks we killed invade his dreams. As if it were a question of ‘let’.  
When Sam dreams, he dreams of Jess. When I dream I dream of Percival.

There was this book on Oprah one time, some piece of ‘classic’ literature. The character, Percival, had been a court dandy overly obsessed with social mores and niceties. This had all been a cover for his real personality which had been that of a cold hearted son of a bitch with a wry sense of humor. The demon that almost broke me fit this description to a T. I’ve never met a spook more polite. So I named him Percival. It helps that he has a name before I find out hard information.  
The hardest thing about demons is that you don’t actually kill them. They’re like ghosts; they need something to attach to. Once you get rid of that, ghosts go away pretty much permanently. Demons can come back.  
When I killed Percival the first time, I thought he was gone. Stupid idiot.  
  
It was my first assignment alone. Dad had found two cases that needed immediate attention, one in Ohio, the other in upstate New York. Since the New York case looked as if it were a simple salt n’ burn of a nasty ghost, Dad dropped me off near Sugar Grove, Ohio to do a little local research while he zipped up to take care of it.  
  
I was frankly, a little afraid for Dad. Neither of us had gotten used to Sam being gone. Dad had already been up to the campus twelve times, twice without me.  
Dad had been acting nuts. He’d been trying to give me more space, seeing that I had my own room, encouraging me to get a job as we stayed in Sacramento, within driving distance of Sam’s school. We stayed there for three months. I made a lot of money, Dad made a lot of money. He was extremely careful to run everything by me and plot out the four hunts we went on, making sure not to step on my toes. And then, when I was about ready to drag Sam out of that school just to get my confident father back, something in him broke. I came back from work to find the car already packed and we were gone not an hour later.  
We swung by Stanford every few weeks or so, to surreptitiously check on Sam. But finally, Dad decided to head out for the road.

And now he was leaving me in Sugar Grove. Abandoning me in the teeming masses of four hundred people. Not the smallest town I’d ever been in, but among the top twenty.  
So I settled in, and hit the local library. Aside from the Blue Light spook, there had not been any significant paranormal activity in the area. The town had been big during the canal booms, when the waterways were more reliable than the roads. Few murders that were anything special. The people were friendly. Their biggest problem was junk cars and unruly bushes.  
What I was investigating was less friendly. Over a period of a hundred and thirty-nine years four bodies were found in the same area dumped by canal locks with rope burns on their wrists, a fresh nick in their jaw and a cross burned into their chest. It was the cross that got Dad’s attention.  
I had a few days before Dad was due back, and I decided to root around a little. I had already seen the dump sites, but not that much of the area nearby. Yes, I should have waited until Dad got back, but damn it, I was bored. Besides, if Sammy could go off on his own at 18, surely I could at 24.

I still don’t know how he caught me. Yeah, I’m used to at least one other pair of eyes on a hunt, but I was alert that night. Really.  
When I woke up, I was hanging from the ceiling of an old stone quarry. This one led deep underground, instead of just being an open pit. There was some kind of fire behind me, casting my shadow clearly into the others. There too stood Percival.  
God. I can still hear the water dripping on the rocks. The canal ran right by the entrance, and the walls had eroded some. For the longest time, he just watched me. He looked like a man, but its eyes had this glitter to them that screamed evil.  
Since he wasn’t going to move, I tried grating the ropes around my wrists against the stone. When he still didn’t move, I put more energy in it. Occasionally I’d search for one of the blades I’d hidden in my clothes. I stopped when the temperature in the cave dropped about twenty degrees. It had been a warm night, but now, I could see my breath. I couldn’t see his.  
“Dean Winchester.” His voice wasn’t threatening or scary. He said my name just as a secretary might say it to confirm the appointment. “You know, your family is becoming a bit infamous to some of us.”  
Goody. “Nice to be noticed.” I quipped.  
He chuckled. It wasn’t just a courtesy laugh, the sound rang in my ears, if I hadn’t been hanging from the ceiling, I would have been tempted to laugh with him. He was being friendly. “What do you think of the nice people of Sugar Grove? Are they not such a quaint, God-fearing folk?”  
While he talked I tried feeling for my knife.  
“So, what are you planning to do with your life?”  
Oh lord, the guidance counselor from hell. I’d had one of those in Kentucky. I was not dignifying him with an answer.  
“There are more organized ways to hunt things that go bump in the night.”  
“Are you gonna give me pointers?”  
“I could. I’ve seen far more than you could hope to learn. Surely some of that knowledge would be useful to you.”  
I know it sounds silly, but most things we hunt don’t take the time to chat. If they say anything, it’s usually to Dad, trying to distract him by twitting him about Mom. This was a new experience. “What would this handy information cost me?” If I can just reach that finger a little further…  
He smiled. “I need a human agent for a few small tasks. You’re a capable sort. You could be very useful.”  
Kill me now. “I’m useful,” you bastard “killing each and every one of you I come up against.”  
His eyes burned with delight. “You should not cast the same aspersions you yourself are guilty of.”  
Nice. The son of a bitch could hear what I was thinking.  
“It happens that way in families with powerful members. The others tend to possess or develop smaller abilities and instincts. Never as strongly, of course, but that much exposure to raw talent will rub off in some small way. Sheer luck, if nothing else. But of course, you have no idea what I speak of.” If I had my hands, I could wipe that polite smirk off his face.  
“I need human hands. Yours have the added advantages of being experienced and cool under pressure. Just now, when you thought to strike me, there was no heat, just factual intent. Most would not know how to control themselves.” With that Percival turned his back on me, expecting my rant.  
“Sorry, I’ve had pretty good track record so far, and I’m not interested in switching teams.”  
Percival’s head whipped around to look me square in the face. The amused glitter in his eye swept from side to side like a person might to search your face.  
Shit. You know how your mouth just runs on autopilot? Stupid fool. My hands felt as far down my sleeve as I could get. Wonderful hiding places, sleeves. Where was my knife?  
“Right here.” He pulled my bowie knife from somewhere behind him. Dropping that to the ground, he pulled my smaller 3 1/2 inch Buck knife from his own sleeve. “Or did you mean this?” As I watched, he dumped half of my personal arsenal on the floor, just out of reach of my feet. The machete he thudded into the stone floor. Shit.  
Apparently I was a great source of amusement. “Three is a number of power. Your family has been winning mainly because there have been three of you. Beginner’s luck. A backup, to the backup. Alone, Dean, you are as fragile as the rest of humanity. And the best part?” He chortled again. “You come looking for us. How could we disappoint?  
“Your father is off disposing of yet another ghost, and he left you here to look up my victims, the ultimate goal being, to exorcise me. He left you all alone too do the easy part. When, after a score of years there’s finally a chink in your armor, how could we not take advantage of it?”  
One of my knives in the pile rose up from the floor to meet his hand. He reached out with it towards my face. I tried to get out of his reach, but you can imagine how effective that was. The blade nicked the side of my face, enough to draw a fair amount of blood.  
“See this?” He held up a handkerchief soaked through. “With this I do not even need your consent. With this and a name, all your stubborn will becomes as effective as a puff of smoke.”  
If a butterfly’s wing can cause a hurricane, I figure smoke can pull a few tricks of it’s own. “Then do it!” I could mock too. “If you can, what stops you!”  
He reached out towards my chest and took up my pendant in his fingers.  
Until this, amused or not, Percival had always been politely amused and non-threatening. Now, his lips curved into a malevolent smile. There was a still quality to it that reminded me, this was not a secretary or an accountant. My stomach got that cold, creeped feeling. He had expected something.  
His voice was an octave or two quieter than when we had been talking. “Appetite.” And then he moved behind me, out of my line of vision. Mine was the only shadow on the wall.

I dream of other things. I used to dream of Cassie before we saw her last month. Sometimes Mom would visit when Dad was hurt and I just couldn’t stay awake anymore. Since I pulled Sam out again, I’d dream of flames dripping onto him as he lay under Jess and not being able to save him. I’ve seen and killed many scary things. I remember every exorcism I’ve attended and assisted.

Nothing haunts the nights like my shadow sketched by flames on the wall and the feel of my own knife cutting at my skin. It is not a question of let.  



End file.
